


That Cancer You're Counting On

by almina



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:43:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2652470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almina/pseuds/almina





	That Cancer You're Counting On

Lydia offered Todd a million dollars, small bills, right now, this afternoon, for Jesse. The three of them were sitting at a folding table in the compound's meth lab. 

"That's generous Lydia, but," Todd hesitated, "there is another contract." 

Jesse kept his eyes on the floor.

Todd had told Jesse about that other contract. It was Mr. White's request. Jesse was to be killed with no fear and no pain. Todd said he had never heard of anything like that before. "He must really like you." He gave Jesse an earnest look. 

"Five hundred thousand, then, for half interest on him and his output." said Lydia. 

Jesse wondered what half interest meant. Until Uncle Jack kills half of him with no fear, no pain, mind you and Lydia gets millions? Lydia had a reason to keep him alive. Uncle Jack however... 

"I will set up an account for you," Lydia was saying, giving Todd eye contact all the time. "You can check it, watch the money going in, take it out any time, under a different name of course. You'll be dealing with a shell corporation that belongs to a shell corporation that belongs to a subsidiary of Madrigal. It also handles laundering, disappearing, driver's licences, ID, passports, resumes. Everything you could need."

That sounded like Saul's disappearer, but more versatile. Jesse looked toward the open lab door as if the conversation bored him.

Lydia stood up, shook Todd's hand. She covered their hands with her left hand, like a politician doing sincere. 

"It's a deal. Keep him in good working order." 

Then she turned to Jesse. She sniffed. "When was the last time you had a bath?"

Jesse shrugged. He couldn't remember.

"I'll arrange something," she said. 

A week later Lydia took him and Todd to a safe house. Jesse was chained in the backseat of her Mercedes. He was so used to the meth lab, that the drive felt like an outing.

The house was small and old, three miles from the compound. Though Lydia arranged buying the house, a Cayman Island shell corporation owned it and paid utilities, maintenance and taxes. Lydia asked that Todd bring Jesse here every week for a bath, vitamins, decent meal, change of clothes. "At the compound, doing that would call attention to him. I don't need that."

She gave Todd a key to the house. Jesse saw him glowing at that sign of trust, of partnership. Todd opened the door for Lydia and watched her with longing as she went inside. 

Jesse smelled fresh paint and cleaning fluids.

"Here it is, new furniture. New everything. No cooties from the previous owners." Lydia shuddered. "Go to the Madrigal website and you'll see the way into your account."

The computer was security chained to a desk inside a living room closet. 

Turned out Todd was no better with the laptop than he was in the meth lab. When he took Jesse to the safe house the next week, Todd asked him about finding his way into the account Lydia set up. 

Jesse found his way in to Todd's Madrigal account in minutes. "This is sortof how my set up at home worked," he said so he didn't seem too smart. 

He got out of the chair and stepped away to give Todd privacy, but Todd tugged jesse's waist chain to get him back to help with getting a faux driver's license and a social security number to go with it. And a credit card. Jesse thought the credit card should wait until Todd opened a checking account with the new name. Jesse said he had to get back to the lab soon to have the batch ready by noon tomorrow. Todd ruffled his hair. "Good little meth monkey."

On the way home Todd bought Jesse a giant banana split. Positive reinforcement for being a good meth slave. Some days, he let Jesse out of the lab. They walked around the compound checking out the muscle cars including Todd's. That was more positive reinforcement for helping with the computer. If you didn't see Jesse's shackles you would think typical summer scene, two guys working on a car. 

 

Jesse had favorite daydreams which he played over and over like favorite songs. He daydreamed of Mr. White finding him, forgiving him and freeing him. Another started the first day he was chained. In his fantasy, he walked up behind Todd, dropped a loop of chain around his neck and danced him around the lab. Todd kicked frantically. When he dropped to the floor Jesse kicked him in the gut and head. Killed him and it felt great.

 

Occasionally Lydia and Todd had lunch together. He told Jesse she was just the sweetest thing. 

Sometimes.

"What happened?" First thing Lydia said when she arrived at the safe house. Her voice was soft but still like the crack of a whip. Jesse was wearing only his shorts. The rest of his clothes were in the washing machine. His ribcage was bandaged all the way around, his face bruised and his forehead was sutured. His legs were colorful with bruises. He limped to the kitchen counter. 

"Can he still cook?" she glared at Todd. 

"I guess," Todd said suffering from Lydia's fury.

"This can't happen again," Lydia said. "You should have..."

"It would be worse if Todd hadn't walked in when he did," Jesse said. 

Lydia took a deep breath. She radiated anger as she waited for an explanation. 

Jesse gave her a look of blue eyed innocence as he spoke. "He stopped it as soon as he saw it." 

Jesse's statement was a flat lie. Todd had watched three newly released neo Nazis beat Jesse. They hit him. When he fell to the floor, they kicked him. They were pulling his jeans off when Todd stopped their fun. He told them Uncle Jack wouldn't like this kind of stuff going on. What Jack didn't like carried weight.

But Jesse's lie put Todd in a good light and satisfied Lydia. Would there be more positive reinforcement?

 

Todd stopped his car in the desert a mile from where Gomez and Hank were buried. 

"They're there," Todd said. 

Yeah, Jesse remembered. He said nothing. 

"The money," Todd said. "Mr. White's money." 

That was more interesting but Jesse kept his poker face. This was Todd's way of saying thank you for telling Lydia that fairy tale about Todd rescuing him. 

"The barrels are in a circle right over there. The rock is the center of the circle. They're fifteen feet away from it, metal under the soil beside them, so we can locate them in the dark with metal detectors," Todd made a beeping noise and grinned. "They're scattered like Mr. White should have done."

Jesse felt resentment on Mr. White's behalf. The man was dying. Burying those barrels was heavy work. Who was Todd to criticize?

 

Todd was leading Jesse across the dark compound, something that had never happened before. Jesse wondered if the deal with Lydia was over. Were the Nazis going to kill him? Todd walked faster. Jesse shuffled his shackled ankles faster.

Jesse kept his eyes down as they went into house. He hoped Uncle Jack would honor Mr. White's request to kill him without fear and without pain, but he already felt fear and expected to feel pain. If he got lucky they would shoot him. But he thought the blows would begin at any moment. He would fall and the Nazis would stomp him to death. He didn't want to but he had to get a glimpse of his executioners. It almost made him cry out. There was Mr. White, thin and haggard. Had he told the them he wanted it done now? Until that moment Jesse had never wanted to die. 

Jack was going on about what a piece of shit Jesse was. "Take a gander. Does that look like a partner?" 

Mr. White was looking him up and down him with what, disbelief? Pity? Horror? Jesse had never felt so worthless.

Mr. White growled and rushed him, pushed him over and was bearing his weight onto him. Jesse thought Mr. White wanted to be the first to strike him. 

The roar began, gunfire, groans, things breaking. Only when Mr. White flinched did Jesse understand. Mr. White was protecting him. 

The cries stopped and in a minute the gunfire stopped. 

Todd low crawled to the window when it started so he was not shot. His back was to Jesse. It was as if Jesse's daydream had prepared him for this moment. His chain went around Todd's neck. Todd writhed and kicked. It was a disappointment when he stopped breathing. Jesse wanted to keep killing him. He let go and found the keyring in Todd's pocket. 

Jesse unlocked his chains. He couldn't do it fast enough.

Mr. White was standing over Uncle Jack who was saying something about money. Mr. White shot him before he could finish. 

Now they were all dead but Mr. White and Jesse. Jesse stood up. 

They stood facing each other. Mr. White shoved the pistol toward him. Jesse picked it up.

"You want this," Mr. White said. He was inviting Jesse to kill him. 

Damn right Jesse wanted it. All the misery Mr. White caused him. 

Then he saw the blood on Mr. White's side. Mr. White had taken a bullet for him. Unexpected grief swamped Jesse. His face contorted. Now Mr. White actually expected Jesse to shoot him? No, no. He was going to have to do it himself. Jesse dropped the gun and walked away. 

Todd's cell phone sounded a ring tone only Todd would have chosen, Lydia, oh Lydia. Mr. White dug the cell out of Todd's pocket. 

He slowly followed Jesse outside as he told Lydia her hours were numbered. He threw away the cell phone and stood none too steadily as Jesse walked to Todd's car. 

Jesse paused as he opened the car door. He felt Mr. White's gaze on him. Jesse needed one last look at him though police cars, lit up and screaming, were already closing on the compound. 

Mr. White was standing still under the light. Jesse thought of a vicious animal, wounded, dying, expecting no mercy. Mr. White was all that. He deserved whatever he got.

But he was frail and so alone. 

Jesse could not leave him. 

Jesse backed Todd's car toward Mr. White fast and stopped with a screech. He got out, grabbed the front of Mr. White's jacket. He pushed him into the passenger seat with one hand and with the other, covered Mr. White's head like a cop putting someone into a car. It shocked Jesse how weak Mr. White was. He put his arm under Mr. White's legs and lifted them inside. Even if Mr. White meant to cooperate - unlikely - he was too slow. Jesse tightened the seat belt hard for what was to come, crossed Mr. White's arms in front of him and closed the door.

The locked gates burst as the car hit them. 

Mr. White slumped against the seat belt. Jesse reached over, touched his forehead, pushed the hair back.

"Just a little longer. Hang on a little longer." Jesse squeezed Walt's shoulder then put his hand back on the steering wheel.

The front of the off the books hospital was a convenience store, for the convenience of looking like you had legitimate business there. 

Jesse knew about the place because he had been here three months ago to be patched up after the Nazis beat him. Todd didn't want Lydia thinking he couldn't look after her investment. Taking Jesse to a conventional emergency room was tantamount to turning him over to the police. 

Jesse was sure the surgeon recognized him. Maybe he remembered the smell of a meth lab too, but the guy was well paid forget faces, to omit reporting felony wounds, to treat reportable diseases without carrying the tale to to the CDC. 

Forty five minutes later, Mr. White lay naked on the table, still anaesthetized, bandages on his arms where the IVs had been, the through and through gunshot cleaned, sutured and bandaged, his body pale in the blasting surgical light.

Jesse gently put the the backs of his fingers to Mr. White's chest, stroked down his side to the betadine stained wound.

First time Jesse had cooked with Mr. White, the man had power, deep chest, strong arms, strong shoulders. Now...

"Lucky, it did not hit the intestines," the doctor said as he peeled off his gloves and dropped them into the waste container. "Nothing but fluids for a few days,"

"He has cancer," Jesse said.

"I see that," the doctor said. Then he fetched two bottles, one large, one small, from the glass doored medication cabinet. "Liquid cesium chloride. If this is going to work at all, it works quickly. Instructions on the bottles. Take tart cherry juice to clear the kidneys of cancer detritus."

The doctor put the bottles into a plastic bag that was imprinted with a national pharmacy chain logo. He dropped in three pharmacy medicine containers. "For pain." He handed it to Jesse. "And sedation. Sometimes people react badly to the anaesthetic I used." The surgeon circled his finger by his temple and made a rueful little smile. "No permanent psychological damage though."

Mr. White on a bad trip. That's going to be just fucking wonderful, Jesse thought.

"Now out. I don't want him dying here," said the doctor. 

The doctor made a dismissing gesture and two of his assistants closed on Mr. White and put clothes on him. These were not the bloody clothes he wore into the hospital, but thrift shop replacements that were part of the service. They carried him to the car Jesse stole. 

Jesse had helped Todd vacuum pack and epoxy a million and half of Jesse's meth money into the quarter panels of that car. Now it was a million and a quarter since Jesse ripped out a packet half a mile away from the hospital. These off the books docs were expensive. 

One of the assistants poured bourbon over Mr. White as soon as he was buckled in. "In case you get stopped. He's passed out drunk so you're driving." 

Part of the service.

Jesse pulled around to the convenience store side of the building. A police car sped toward the compound and gave him not a glance. Who's going to commit a mass murder and an hour later, stop for funyons, juice, and pop, then watch the cops go by like just another CSI buff? 

Mr. White was almost conscious by the time Jesse half carried, half dragged him into the living room of the safe house. He slouched on the sofa. Jesse unbuttoned the bourbon soaked jacket and pushed it off Mr. White's shoulders. Mr. White fell forward against him. Jesse had an impulse to embrace him. As Jesse took the jacket off Mr. White, he felt Walt's ribs too close to the surface and bones where there had been muscle. 

The feelings confused Jesse. He hated Mr. White. But at this moment Jesse would have given anything to have him awake, healthy, crabby, sarcastic, and critical as usual. Jesse checked the sutures. He was afraid that he had ripped them as he supported Mr. White's weight. There was only a little blood on the wound dressing. 

Mr. White opened his eyes and stared at Jesse. His pupils grew huge. He looked terrified. He gasped and touched the scar on Jesse's face. Then he was suddenly unconscious as if he fainted. Jesse supported him as he went limp, laid him down flat, took off his shoes, put a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. He sat in the chair beside the sofa and watched Mr. White sleep.

Did Mr. White hate him enough to have him killed? Once he sure did. But tonight he had taken a bullet for Jesse. Could he could stay off DEA radar without Jesse? Not likely. He needed Jesse, at least for a while. 

Jesse looked at the chain chafes on his wrists. Mr. White had freed him.

Jesse's long hours chained in the meth lab forced him to think. The lies he had told himself stopped working. 

After Mr. White and Gus worked together, he was not necessary to the business end of things. He was no more protection for Mr. White than he was to Gus, no matter what he wanted to think at the time. But while Mr. White lived Jesse would stay with him and suck up any abuse. Count the cost later. 

"Loyalty to the wrong guy," Mike said. 

Jesse could not begin to explain. 

 

Jesse hardly believed his new life. Sometimes he laughed out loud to think no more Todd. No more neo Nazis. No more chains. Mr. White was asleep most of the time. That was good. Jesse could shop and not worry about him. As a precaution though, Jesse bought memberships in big box stores that made deliveries. He wanted to stay home as much as possible.

Jesse bought clothes for Mr. White, the nerdy stuff he favored. He bought household things like utensils and blankets. Laundry detergent. Shaving cream and razors, bandaids and toothpaste. He bought stuff that was nice to have but not necessary - video games, a high end juicer, and a cold press coffee maker. He also bought condoms and lube and looked forward to having sex again but as he walked out of the store, Jesse told himself he was sick, sick, sick, thinking such thoughts about a man who was maybe only days away from death. 

During the brief intervals Mr. White was awake, Jesse was there with juice, broth, only fluids as ordered. Mr. White did not like grapefruit juice. He liked orange juice. The tart cherry juice was so - so. Jesse fell right into taking care of him, as he taken care of Ginny. 

 

Mr. White came out of the bedroom while Jesse was at the computer. He was wearing a bathrobe. He leaned on the door jamb as if he could not stand without it.

"Why are you doing this?" Mr White said. 

Jesse turned in the chair. Mr. White was staring at him. 

"I don't forgive you but I can see the reasons now," Jesse said. "There were good reasons for Mike, Gus, even Jane."

The stare continued. 

"What I can't understand is why you didn't kill me a long time ago," Jesse said. " I was a danger to you as much as the others. You were stupid to keep me around." 

Mr. White didn't answer. He went back to the bedroom.

"I am stupid for you," Jesse said softly.

 

He was worse than stupid. There were limits to his love, like killing and cruelty. Everyone, Andrea, Jane even Jake had the potential of shutting down his feelings for them. But Mr. White did worse and worse and Jesse made allowances and more allowances, always hoping for something better from him.

Mr. White was distant. Jesse was not surprised. As the end drew near for Ginny, she had become remote, mourning the people she would be leaving. She even pulled away from Jesse.

 

Jesse was loading the bathroom shelves with towels still warm out of the dryer. Mr. White was dozing in the tub. Jesse took down the bath cushion. 

"More comfortable," he said as he lifted Mr. White's head. 

Mr. White startled and jerked away, splashing water out of the tub. He grasped Jesse's arms. 

"What did you think I was going to do?" Jesse backed away, his hands open and raised, to say 'I mean no harm.'

Mr. White said nothing but watched Jesse as he left the bathroom.

 

Mr. White spent more time outside the bedroom. The wound no longer prevented him from sitting up though he was still careful not to move suddenly. He no longer looked as if he were dying. It was hard to define and impossible to miss. His color was better, his voice less raspy; he was less depressed.   
He was still undemonstrative. Okay, if Mr. White wanted to be left alone, Jesse would leave him alone.

Most of the time.

On the web, Jesse found a video clip of the great Heisenberg. He'd been spotted in Oregon, on a pier. Jesse called Mr. White to the computer to see it.

"Yo, like sighting Elvis," Jesse said as he pointed at the monitor. It was a bald guy who had a beard like Heisenberg. 

Jesse was relieved. It was possible that people would look at Mr. White as he was now and not see Heisenberg.

 

They were at the kitchen table. Mr. White had made an omelette. 

Jesse stood up and did an impression of a frail old man's splay footed shuffle so dead on it was cruel. "You don't do that any more." Jesse grasped Mr. White's shoulders. "Muscles coming back. Got some meat on your bones now." 

Mr. White shrugged. 

"Sometimes people recover," Jesse said as he sat down.

Mr. White drew a deep breath. His patience was going fast.

"Like Ginny's friend, Leah," Jesse charged on. "Cancers at the same stage. I used to drive them both to the support group 'cause Leah's kid was in the army."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I saw Leah walking her dog by my house just before we..." Jesse didn't know what to call his connection with Mr. White. "She called out to me, so I went up to her."

"Couldn't believe it." Jesse patted his own face. "Same little scar beside her nose. She was alive. Healthy." 

"You sure she had cancer in the first place?" Mr. White said.

"Oh she had it alright."

Mr. White was looking very skeptical.

"Leah told me she took cesium chloride. Same stuff the doctor gave me for you." 

"You expect me to take cesium chloride because a neighbor said she took it? You know it depletes potassium? It's used to induce heart attacks in experimental animals." Mr. White sounded as if he were explaining it to a dense student.

Jesse bit off half a strip of bacon. "Leah cured herself," he said. "She fired her doctors. Says they're worse than drug dealers."

Mr. White smiled slightly. 

Jesse drew a deep breath and made himself say it. "I've been giving you cesium chloride. And potassium."

"Medication, without my permission," said Mr. White. The Heisenberg face. The guy was still scary. 

"Point is, that cancer you've been counting on, may not be there for you," Jesse said. He jabbed his finger on the table as if he meant to push it through the wood. "You always thought you had an out. You'd be dead before you went to trial."

Jesse could see Mr. White knew he should be dead by now. He knew he shouldn't be feeling better. 

"You can't get caught." Jesse sounded desperate when he said that. "Your out is gone."

Jesse leaned close to Mr. White, like an angry parent making a point. He had to make Mr. White see the danger he was in. "I spent half a year chained," Jesse said. "I will have no problem chaining you here. It's way better than life without parole."

 

Jesse knew it would happen. He saw the motion out of the corner of his eye. Mr. White was getting into the Explorer Jesse had bought with one of his new identities and Todd's (his) meth money.

He threw down the dish towel and ran out the back door. He yanked open the passenger side door. "No fucking way," Jesse said. He reached down to the bottom of the dash, his fingers skittering along the edge until he found the row of fuses which he yanked out. "No headlights now, no turn signals, no wipers. Not drivable. You're not leaving."

Mr. White opened his hands on the steering wheel in an I-give-up gesture. But of course he wouldn't.

 

As soon as it was dark, Mr. White was asleep. He still got tired easily. Jesse turned the bedroom light from dark to dim, padlocked the chain to the bathroom radiator, then lightly, delicately, lifted the blanket away from Mr. White. He slept naked. Jesse moved quickly, laying a towel on Mr. White's skin so he would not feel the cold metal, then circled his waist with the other end of the chain. The highly recommended closed shackle padlock clicked.

Mr. White woke up and touched the chain.

"You'll be able to get to the bathroom," Jesse said. "I ordered a half height refrigerator. I'll put it beside the bed."

"So this is revenge after all."

"Yo, no. I'm looking out for you." Jesse sat on the side of the bed, picked up the chain and grinned. "You stay out of sight long enough, everyone'll think you're dead." 

Mr. White grasped the padlock. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the weight of it.

"Advantages of being dead," Jesse said and he counted off on his fingers. "The DEA won't look for you. Your family won't return gifts you send them. Meth lords won't be trying to kill you." 

 

Shortly before midnight, Jesse returned to the bedroom, stripped to his underwear and got under the covers.

"Take this any way you want," Jesse said as he pulled the blanket to his neck and turned to Mr. White. "But you have a way of getting around things. I can't keep getting up to make certain you aren't escaping."

"No point in coming to bed with me. I haven't been functional for months," Mr. White said. "Go back to the sofa."

"Oh." 

Jesse looked at that fine profile. Was that why Mr. White had been distant?

"I'll do everything," Jesse said. "After you are out of chains. It'd creep me out to do it with someone who has to be chained."

Jesse moved close to Mr. White.

"Or maybe it wouldn't." Jesse leaned over and kissed him. 

He cradled Mr. White's head with both hands. He bit along his bottom lip. Inhaled his breath. Jesse had not realized how much he missed this. 

"Don't move," he said to Mr. White. "Don't do anything."

Jesse pulled off his underwear. His hands shook. He pushed the blanket away and looked at Mr. White as if he did not know where to start. 

He tasted the skin of Mr. Whites's throat, liking the feel of whiskers brushing his lips. Touched the bullet scars and kissed them. The skin there was pearl white like a burn. He ran his hand down Mr. White's belly, over his cock, and cupped his balls. Jesse wanted to say, this is enough. I have this back.   
He was so hard it hurt. 

He reached into the drawer of the bedside table for the lube. He slathered it on his fingers and his cock. Then he lay on his side and moved against Mr. White's hip. Not even a minute of rutting, he had to stop, he was so close. 

He took the chain in his hand and pulled Mr. White onto his side, so they were chest to chest. He pushed his forehead against Mr. White's. "I should have done this as soon as you came here." He put his hand on Mr. White's jaw and forced open his mouth. Pushed his tongue inside. Mr. White wasn't resisting at all. 

Jesse kissed and licked his way down Mr. White's belly. He took Mr. White's cock into his mouth and bit as it swelled. He grasped his balls just short of pain. 

Mr. White was motionless but he was reacting, sweat glistening on his skin. Jesse saw the pulse pounding between his ribs.

He moved his tongue as if he were trying to swallow Mr. White's cock. Mr. White gasped. His cock went harder. Jesse had to pull away to get his breath. He ran his hand along Mr. White's spine, over his ass. Mr. White's skin was fever warm. Every square inch of skin in contact with him felt so good Jesse wanted to envelop him.

He pushed Mr. White onto his back. He lay over him and pushed his legs apart with his own. Jesse was moving against Mr. White, their cocks slippery with sweat and spit and lube. Jesse felt Mr.White's hands on his back, pulling him closer. 

Jesse put a hand on each side of Mr. White's shoulders. He pushed himself up, and reached one hand back, took Mr.White's wrist and pinned it to the bed, caught the other wrist and pinned it. 

He was grinning. "Nothing. Don't move." He ground his hips onto Mr. White. 

Jesse was close to coming. He stopped moving. He liked to do this, get close, stop, get close, stop, until finally he couldn't stop. 

Jessed lifted himself away and sat between Mr. White's legs. He squeezed more lube on his hand and hooked his other hand under Mr. White's knee, pushed it to the side and back, spreading his ass. 

"I want it messy," Jesse said as he smeared his taint, his opening, taking his time. He took his hand from Mr. White's leg and grasped his cock, slowly sliding over the glans, teasing, teasing. Slick down the shaft, then squeezing as he came up. 

Jesse gently inserted two fingers. He waited until Mr. White relaxed then pushed a little further, found the prostate. Mr. White clenched and groaned as he came. Jesse withdrew his fingers and thought how good it was going to feel to put his cock where they had been.

Another time. 

Mr. White's hand went to the bullet scars. Jesse covered it with his own. He pressed his forehead against Mr. White's chest. He shouldn't have done this. It had hurt the barely healed muscle and skin. Then Jesse was coming, clamping Mr. White's thigh between his own. He felt a wash of sensation over his back, down his legs, making his toes curl. It went on forever. He moaned as if it hurt. 

Once he would have lain beside Mr. White to savor the beautiful lethargy but Jesse got up. He cleaned the stickiness off both of them and put a heat pack on the scars.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed and looked into Mr. White's eyes, the first time they had really looked soul to soul since they came back together in this little hidey hole of a house. 

Jesse just had to give Mr. White time to heal. 

 

A week passed. Mr. White was taking his imprisonment better than Jesse expected. He even thanked Jesse for making grilled cheese sandwiches and for all the fruit and beer Jesse had put into the bedside fridge. Mostly he slept.

Jesse woke. Mr. White was already up. Jesse looked at the floor. Nothing but the chain and the open lock. 

"Shit!" Jesse jumped out of bed.

He kept the car keys in his wallet but Mr. White could probably do a work around. 

Jesse ran to the window and checked the driveway. The cars were still there. Jesse ran to the kitchen.

Mr. White was at the stove, dressed, his hair still wet from the shower. "Breakfast?" he said.

Jesse's knees almost buckled. He grabbed a chair and sat down hard. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Mr. White said. 

Jesse looked the question. 

"I thought you were biding your time until you killed me," Mr. White said. "Better to risk arrest than payback."

"That's fucking wonderful," Jesse said. "He finally prefers staying with me to dying in prison." 

 

They watched television but only for news of themselves. Very little. Jesse drove by the compound. There was still crime scene tape but no cops. Jesse did not want to drive. One minor citation, the slightest reason to take fingerprints or DNA and he could be matched up with evidence in the meth lab. But it was more dangerous for Mr. White. Jesse didn't want him driving at all.

 

Mr. White sat at the computer.

"Is this Todd's password?" Jesse had written it for Todd and then covered the paper with his doodles. It was barely readable in the jumble.

Jesse nodded. 

Mr. White smiled a little and tapped the keyboard. After a few minutes he brought up a page Jesse did not recognize.

Jesse looked over his shoulder. "You hacked into her account." He laughed. "You're criminal to the bone. How'd you do it?"

"Look at Todd's password," Mr. White said. "Look at his name. Permutation. And a digit. Lydia did the same for her own password. Most people who have to use a lot of passwords, have a system for making them."

Mr. White brought up a spreadsheet and peered at the numbers. Scrolled up, down.

"Why Lydia," Mr. White said. "You were holding out on me."

 

"I've been holding out on you too." 

Mr. White turned away from the computer to look at Jesse.

"I think I have. We need some metal detectors." He was glad Mr. White did not ask him to explain.

Jesse drove them to an outdoors and sporting goods outfitter. He chose two metal detectors, different brands, different capabilities. 

He took Mr. White to the spot Todd had pointed out, the rock in the circle of buried cash. To his delight, Jesse got it right first time. The detector made this soft cheeping sound which meant there was metal no more than six inches under the sand. Mr. White tried the other detector, walked the circle and got purring noises at regular intervals.

They went back to their SUV, only steps from the point where they got the first signals. 

"I brought shovels," Jesse said. He liked sounding as if he could plan ahead. After all this time and grief, he still wanted to impress Mr. White.

They dug into the four foot space between signal sites closest to their car. They dug carefully, like archeologists, so as not to damage the barrel. If one was there. The soil was loose as if it had not quite settled. They put on work gloves and scooped it away. In minutes they were clearing soil off the top of a barrel. Mr. White curled his fingers around the edge and tugged. Tugged again and there was cash, stuffed to the top. 

In one motion they sat back on their heels.

"It was here for the taking all this time." Mr. White shook his head. 

They scooped out bills, twenties, fifties, hundreds, the top six inches of cash and stuffed it into grocery bags. Mr. White stopped and closed up the barrel. He pushed soil into the hole until it was level, smoothed it over and put pebbles and brush on it.

"That shell company has a protocol for laundering cash inside the US," he said and glanced around the circle. "I'm going to assume we'll find the rest."

They sat in the car for a while. Jesse opened a bottle of mineral water and offered it to Mr. White who took a swig. 

"We could camp out here, pull up a barrel a night," Mr.White said. "Maybe we'll just verify that the money is here and leave it in the ground."

"I'm not gonna sleep in a tent."

"What?" 

"Tarantulas. Scorpions. Rattlesnakes." Jesse drew a deep breath. "Gila monsters," he said, his lips curling.

"I've never seen a gila monster here. What makes you think..."

"Because I don't want to," Jesse snapped.

"Jesse logic," Mr White said. "Okay." He grinned and reached across the console to pat Jesse's knee.

The laundering went smoothly, cash in, check out, all in a day. They used a legitimate corporation that like thousands of other legitimate corporations, was investing money outside its charter. It was illegal but everyone got away with it which made it almost as good as legal. Checks with the corporation imprint looked boringly respectable. 

Mr. White bought a small RV. Jesse asked where he got the money. "Todd's and Lydia's accounts. Collecting what's ours. Officially Todd, or Wolfgang Fossenkemper as he is designated in Lydia's account, will buy us this RV. "

It was weird to step into an RV that was not fitted out for meth manufacture. These were fitted for comfort - bed, shower, kitchen, air conditioning. Jesse rejected two before they settled on the third. The only thing Mr. White insisted upon was solar panels for charging batteries. 

"The reason is obvious." He looked hard at Jesse.

Mr. White put up a tent over the site they would dig for the barrel of cash. He had Jesse park close to it. The barrel would be exposed to observation only for minutes as they rolled it from tent to RV. Mr. White got to work at daylight. Jesse stayed in bed, sore and content, almost awake.  
He finally opened his eyes and sat up.

The first thing he saw, the only thing he saw, was the gila monster on the table. Its heavy tail drooped over the edge. Its front foot was on a plate, its head bent to a smear of scrambled egg. They like eggs. Jesse knew that about gila monsters. His heart was pounding. He stood up slowly. He was going to ease by it. Not startle it. If it bit, it would hold on. The pain would be excruciating. His blood wouldn't clot. He was thinking about the death he would die when he glimpsed the tiny white tag on the gila's belly. He didn't know what he was seeing, until he leant down, a yard away, ready to run. The thing was a toy. He still had to gather courage to touch it. He pushed it with his index finger. It was heavy, and felt like a living thing, but it didn't turn and bite him. 

"You warped, sadistic prick," Jesse yelled as he ran out of the RV.

Mr. White stared at him from the shade of the tent. Then he laughed. And laughed more. Jesse was enraged until he saw himself as Mr. White saw him, naked in the sunlight, hickeys on his neck and chest and thighs, waving the gila monster. Jesse lobbed it at him. Mr. White ducked as it fwumped into the back of the tent. 

"I thought it was alive." Jesse stalked back into the RV. 

 

Mr. White brought the barrels into the safe house, and set them on their ends. He laid a tablecloth over them it as if they were makeshift table. He put the toy gila monster in the center of the table cloth for a homey touch. 

Jesse glared. "Buttmunch!" But he wasn't really mad anymore.

They had a cash counting machine on the kitchen table. They were banding bills for the launderer.

"What kind of house would you like?" Mr. White said as he sorted bills into stacks of twenties, fifties, hundreds. 

Time slowed. Jesse's skin went cold. This was the end. Mr. White was leaving him and this was the kiss off. 

Jesse didn't say anything. 

"It's best we leave this place. We could be thrown out any time," Mr. White said.

Mr. White said we. We. 

"I liked my aunt's house. I like the gate."

Mr. White nodded. "I want to live where it's convenient to check on my family. Not so close that we meet them when we're shopping."

Jesse thought this sounded like a plan. 

 

They were settled in their new house, sitting by the pool, in the evening. Jesse blew cigarette smoke at a mosquito. He didn't want to slap it.

"The things I did," Mr. White was saying. "All from the same bad choice." He met Jesse's level gaze. "I put myself in a position where I had to do terrible things to stay alive or keep from being arrested." 

Mr. White had never said anything like that before. Admitting a mistake. 

Later, another surprise. "I could live to be a very old man," Mr. White said. "I hate being alone."

Jesse thought, you never will be alone. Unless you ditch me. 

 

Walt stood in the arched doorway of the study. He liked watching Jesse. Jesse with the looks of a battered angel. Jesse sketching. His arm had a life of its own. So fast. So sure. Walt wondered if Jesse's intense concentration was doing for him what drugs used to, taking him out of this world.

"I've ruined your life," Walt said. "I cannot give it back but I have provided for you."

Jesse kept his attention on the paper. "I can provide for myself. You don't owe me."

Walt looked heavenwards. "You gave me back my life. You gave me back my fortune. And I don't owe you?"

Jesse shrugged. 

"The person I want to spend the rest of my life with is the one who has the least reason to spend it with me," Mr. White said, his tone unsure, as if he had to make himself say those words. 

Jesse finally looked up from his drawing. "Not that way at all," he said and reached out his hand.


End file.
